Survival Read Online Free PDF Page B

helping us. That was pretty hairy,” Igor said.
    “No problem,” the man replied.
    “Where are you headed?” Igor asked, drying his hair with the corner of his blanket.
    “California. But we detoured for Panama. Something about mechanical problems.”
    “Well, that’s lucky. We’re based out of Panama.”
    “Then it’s not a complete loss. You got a free ride to Balboa out of the deal.”
    Igor offered another smile. He found smiling put people at ease, so he did so often, even when he was about to execute someone. It was a hard habit to break, but he saw no reason to. Sometimes it drove Fernanda crazy, but he figured that if you had to have annoying habits, smiling too much wasn’t a terrible one.
    “Thanks for that.” Igor paused. “How many crew on the ship?”
    “Sixteen.”
    “Wow. That’s all for a ship this size? What is she? Eight hundred feet?”
    “Almost a thousand.”
    “No wonder we can hardly feel the storm,” Igor said. He accepted a cup of coffee and took a cautious sip. “Do you carry passengers or just cargo?”
    “Depends. Sometimes we do. We’ve got a few on this trip.”
    “Really? I always wondered why people would want to travel by container ship. I read about it somewhere a long time ago. Never got it.”
    “It’s a different experience. Some people want to have a special trip they can tell their friends about. Something uncommon. How many people go from South America to North America on a cargo vessel? Not many,” the seaman explained.
    “Where do they stay?”
    “We have some nicer staterooms for paying passengers. Same level as the crew, but better digs,” the seaman said.
    Igor yawned and glanced at his companions, who were watching him, waiting for his signal. Igor was about to give it when the two crewmen who had gone for clothes returned and handed out sweatpants and T-shirts. Igor’s men looked to him for guidance, and he stood and asked his new friend where he could change out of his wet clothes. The seaman pointed to a door.
    “Head’s in there.”
    “Be right back,” Igor said, and walked on squishing running shoes to the bathroom and went inside. He wasted no time changing, instead retrieving the Glock 19 he’d brought aboard and chambering a round. He caught a blur of reflection in the mirror and stopped to look at himself, smiling automatically.
    The same smile was on his face when he came out of the head holding the gun. His men took his cue and retrieved weapons from beneath their blankets, and the eight seamen found themselves staring down the ugly muzzles of pistols.
    “What the hell is this?” demanded one of the seamen. Igor punched him in the throat and the man collapsed, fighting for breath.
    “I’m only going to ask this once. Where’s the rest of the crew?”
    Nobody answered, the seamen preferring to stare at him in stony silence. Igor tilted his head at one of his men. “Leon? Get a knife. We’ll start cutting off fingers and see how long this bunch wants to play hardball.”
    Leon gave the crewmen a malevolent grin and moved around the galley as he foraged in drawers. “Ah,” he said, holding up the gleaming blade of a serrated bread knife. “This should do the trick.” He slashed at the air with it a few times and then returned to where the men were sitting.
    Igor motioned with his pistol at the youngest captive. “You. Time to lose your fingers. Are you right- or left-handed?”
    The seaman, no more than early twenties, swallowed hard. “No.”
    Igor shook his head. “You aren’t very smart, are you? It wasn’t a yes or no question. Last time. Are you right- or left-handed?”
    The young man looked at his mates and shivered involuntarily. When his eyes returned to Igor’s, the hit man smiled.
    “Please,” the seaman begged, his lip quivering. “There are four down in the engine room, the captain and the helmsman on the bridge, and two more in the staterooms. They’re sick. The flu.”
    “And the passengers?” Igor